Due Change

From the nocturnal chill and the darkening of the oak leaves I sense the equinox approaching. These shortened days fall the way the leaves soon will, and blow away as in a silent wind the skin can't feel. I smell summer dying. A few weeks hence the leaves will begin to cover it, and maybe clouds will come to weep over its corpse. Myself, I look forward to the funeral. I'll wake dead summer with warm drinks, and hum happy dirges with the autumn wind.


( Sunday Verse )